Author: Cindy

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Galapagos, Day 15, Afternoon: Santa Fe Island

Time for another Galapagos Post! I know, I made you wait. I’m bad.

Ecuador Trip: Day 15

Galapagos Cruise: Day 10

If you’re new to my Galapagos posts and you’re wondering why they’re titled 5 days ahead of the cruise, it’s because I like to continue how I begin (blame it on the Capricorn), and I began blogging about our cruise five days before the cruise began. As in, Day 1 was the day we flew to Ecuador. Therefore, Day 15 = Day 10 of the cruise.

I know, it’s complicated and I should be hung on some of that cacti on South Plaza Island for being confusing. But if that happened, I’d be hanging off cacti my entire life.

So we’ll just continue how we began.

The afternoon of April 30th took us to Santa Fe Island, which is also known as Barrington. It has a lovely little bay where large cruise ships can’t anchor. But catamarans with 16 passengers can. For me, this is another plus of going on a boat with a small number of passengers. Quite simply, your itinerary allows you to visit more sites. We were able to go kayaking from our anchorage point off Santa Fe. The Cormorant only has two kayaks, so two couples would go out, kayak around, then come back.

Over the two-week trip, I believe there were only two opportunities to use the kayaks. Indeed, I began to wonder why they were on-board. Both opportunities occurred during Week 2 of the cruise. I can’t remember where the other opportunity was, because I didn’t take advantage of it. Sorry about the lousy note-taking!

Santa Fe has tons of sea lions! They make a lot of noise as they bark and groan and roll around on the sand.
By this point the sea lions on the beaches were beginning to remind me of beagles. However, instead of rollng around in dead fish during spawning season (if you’re dumb enough to let your beagle near the spawning creek) (I assure you, I am usually not), they roll around in sand. They are so cute. They are beagle cute. Hence the expression, “Cute as a beagle!”
Santa Fe’s vegetation was similar to South Plazas Island. However, both islands were totally different from the vegetation we encountered on Week 1 of our cruise. We walked a relaxing path around the island.
A wee spider. Not the sort of thing you want to encounter! On Santa Fe and other islands during Week 2, we had to be careful not to walk straight into a craftily constructed spider web. Our guide, while trying to get rid of a spider web for his guests, accidentally got bitten on the face. He did not turn into Spider-Man (awwwww). However, the bite looked very uncomfortable for the next few days.
A sign for the dumb North Americanos who might otherwise go too far. Notice how the birds don’t crap on the rocks or the vegetation? No, they’re crapping on the sign. The sign is silently screaming “Stop!” but the birds do not listen.
A relaxing kayak with My Liege. Hah.

I’ve only gone kayaking one time before the Galapagos, during a group trip to Salt Spring Island in B.C. That was a long time ago, and the main thing I remember is that I was not very good at kayaking. Turned out a lot hadn’t changed between Salt Spring Island and Santa Fe! I’m still not good at it. I lost my hat. I forced my husband to turn back and rescue it before it drowned. He claimed he had to do all the work of rowing, or whatever you call it. Apparently, I was supposed to watch what he was doing and somehow, miraculously, then know what to do myself. Really, I’m just supposed to lounge in the back of the kayak like Cleopatra on a river barge. After all these years, you’d think my husband would realize this. So our kayaking trip, while fun…I prefer the snorkeling. No one’s relying on me. I can screw up to my heart’s content!

I have another excuse for my lousy kayaking skills, however. You see, the sea sickness that had plagued me at the beginning of our trip was returning. Knowing I get motion sickness, on the day we flew from Quito to the Galapagos, I began wearing this medicinal patch behind my ear. You wear one for three days behind one ear and then you wear the second one for three days behind the other ear. I had hoped that by the time I finished wearing the patch for 6 days, my sea sickness would subside. I was also nibbling ginger and wearing those acupuncture wrist bands, both of which were supposed to help. Once I went off the ear patch, however, it took a couple of days, but I grew progressively more woozy. The day we went kayaking, I wasn’t quite ready to go back on the patch. But a day later I had to miss a snorkeling opportunity because I felt so woozy. At this point, I was glad I’d brought along extra ear patches.

If you get seasick, do not count on “getting used to it.” I got “used to” the motion of the boat, to walking up and down the stairs to the sundeck, etc., as in I became more physically adept at these activities. But I could not give up my dependence on the patch. So take plenty!

One of the other passengers was doing far worse than moi, however. She was feeling so poorly that the Cormorant headed toward San Cristobal to get her something for her stomach. Along the way, we passed Kicker Rock, where we would snorkel in two more days. Kicker Rock is so beautiful! I must have taken a million pictures. Nothing but seeing it in real life can do it justice, but here’s a taste as we’re motoring past to get nausea medication for another guest:

In two days, we would be snorkeling around the smaller of the two humongous rocks. We snorkeled all around it. It was amazing.

I have a lot of views of Kicker Rock. You might be sick of it by the time we leave the vicinity. This was our first glimpse, we had several others, and I don’t think I could ever tire of the sight of Kicker Rock. That would be like getting sick of looking at the amazing beautiful lakes we have in my part of British Columbia. Just not gonna happen. Your mileage may vary.

Catching Claire Release!

It’ll still be a few days until I have time to update the Books pages on my website, so I’m going ahead and posting about the release of Catching Claire, Story 2 in LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES, here—including the blurb, story cover, and an excerpt! Drum roll…

Catching Claire is now available for Kindle, Kobo, on Apple iTunes, Smashwords, and from All Romance Ebooks (a great place to get a PDF, if you don’t have an e-reader)! By the way, Deceiving Derek, Story 1 in the series, is now up at All Romance Ebooks, too!

Smashwords will distribute to NOOK, Sony, and other venues, but it will take a couple of weeks, or more. Unfortunately, as a Canadian, I can not upload directly to Barnes and Noble’s PubIt venue, so if you’re hankering for a copy of Catching Claire in ePub format for your NOOK right away, please visit Smashwords or ARe.

Blurb:

When Claire Merriweather hires hunky future doctor Ridge Pederson to strip at a friend’s bachelorette party, she never imagines she’ll wake up in his bed. Well, she imagines it—but now it’s happened. Big problem: Claire’s memory is fuzzy. Did they do the bouncy? Or did Ridge reject her? Either way…oh-oh, her heart’s in trouble!

Cover by LFD Author Designs:

Excerpt!

Stripping off his clothes in a room full of women was not Ridge Pedersen’s idea of a good time. But how could he refuse when the gigs paid a good portion of his med school bills?

Exiting the elevator, he patted the tiny bag of coins in the pocket of his sleep pants. As he strode toward the apartment building’s laundry, a sour alcohol scent emanated from the basket balanced against his hip. He wrinkled his nose.

Over the last month, riotous bachelorette parties had crammed his summer weekends. Women mauled him, grabbed him, “forgot” to tip him—and sometimes puked on him. Thankfully, the latter hadn’t occurred at tonight’s job, although several women had slugged back oversized drinks comprised of vodka, various liqueurs, and cream. More than once, the petite future bride had offered Ridge a sip from her sticky cup, splashing his cop costume.

Shaking his head at the memory, he shouldered into the laundry room and jerked to a stop. Beside the bulletin board, a curvy brunette shook her booty in a short, purple nightie that did wonders to her thighs. As she danced with her back to him, she curled a messy wave of brown hair behind her ear. A skinny electronics cord dangled from her earlobe, most likely attached to a miniscule music player tucked…somewhere interesting, he hoped.

Wow, she almost made up for tonight’s annoyances.

Almost.

Her singing sucked.

The door slammed shut as Ridge walked past Claire Merriweather’s jiggling butt and set his basket on the first washing machine in the row. Claire had hired him for tonight’s party. However, the reserved tones of her voice mail requesting his services in no way matched her enthusiastic bouncing on spiky sandals. Purple panties peeked from the hem of her lingerie as she danced, and countless straps crisscrossed her spine. Swinging a plastic cup, she cannibalized an upbeat song about kissing girls.

“I copped a feel—hiccup!” she belted in a sharp soprano. “La, la, la, his—hic—nightstick!”

Ridge recognized the side of her head, although not her daring outfit. During his performance in a fourth-floor apartment of the building, she’d remained within his vantage point in the hostess’s kitchen, prepping snacks and mixing drinks. She’d worn totally different clothes then. A conservative blouse and jeans that had nicely hugged her round behind.

How had the girl who’d avoided his gaze while paying him at the door transformed into this out-of-tune sex kitten?

Her glass swung again. The creamy concoction sloshed onto the scuffed linoleum beside a humming dryer.

Ridge’s mouth quirked. Naturally. The booze.

“Hello,” he called.

Her eyes fluttered half-open. Poking her tiny earphone, she bastardized the song again.

“Hello!” Ridge walked toward her, banging the washers. Her gaze riveted to the bulletin board.

He frowned. Didn’t she realize her vulnerable position? A woman alone in the unlocked laundry donned in lacy nightwear placed herself in unnecessary danger. Any loser—not him—could waltz in and see her.

Take advantage of her.

Attack her—

She licked an ad on the flyer-infested bulletin board.

Licked it!

Narrowing his gaze, Ridge stopped directly behind her. She tongued the ad a second time. His ad. For his stripping business.

Nine of the original thirteen detachable paper strips inscribed with his cell phone number hung from the glossy eight-by-ten. Butchering the pop song, Claire Merriweather tore off every last slip. Giggling, she stuffed them into her top.

Ridge rolled his eyes. In the color photo adorning the flyer, he wore the navy policeman costume she’d specified for the party. Stainless steel handcuffs dangled from his thick black belt while he gripped a strategically positioned nightstick. The intentional visual had netted him a generous profit as one of two part-time summer jobs. Under other circumstances, Claire’s thievery might flatter him. But registration for second-year med school occurred in a week.

Nobody messed with his tuition money.

He stepped within an inch of her. “Excuse me?” Voice hard, he tapped her shoulder.

Shrieking, she jumped. Her drink winged out of the cup, drenching the flyer. One of her ear buds popped out, the white cord swaying.

Ridge, you idiot. What on earth was he thinking, scaring the pants off her?

“Sorry.” Grasping her shoulders, he turned her around. “I hit the washers to catch your attention—”

“It’s you!” Green eyes wide, she thumped the empty cup onto the droning dryer. “My cop-a-feel!” She threw her arms around his neck. Her full breasts crushed the loose T-shirt covering his chest, and the sweet aroma of Irish Cream drifted from her lips.

Ridge pushed her away and held her there. Not that he didn’t appreciate her enthusiasm. In fact, certain parts of his body appreciated it too much.

“You were at the party tonight,” he reminded her in case her neurons had misfired. “You hired me for your friend, Tanya. I danced with her. In Alicia Maxwell’s apartment. Remember?”

A loopy grin plastered Claire Merriweather’s face. “I wouldn’t exactly say I hired you for Tanya.” The papers advertising his cell number fluttered in her top. The purple nightie—babydolls, that was it—had wide shoulder straps and lacy stuff that nipped at her waist and flared at her hips. He liked the tiny white bows along the hem. He liked the large bow centered on her cleavage even better. But…

Up close, on a wildness scale of one to ten, Claire’s outfit rated a three. The neckline didn’t plunge, and the skirt concealed her butt—when she wasn’t bouncing around. The papers jutting from her top and the dangling music cord lent her the appearance of a disorganized cat burglar on a midnight heist.

“Oh yeah, you hired me for Tanya,” Ridge stated. “She’s the bride.”

Claire’s dimples flashed. “You look like Demi Moore’s ex.”

Ridge squinted. “Bruce Willis?”

“No, silly. The young one. Don’t you—hic—twit?”

“What? Oh, you mean tweet.”

“Uh-huh. Twit.” She lifted a finger, and his grip on her slackened. “Soshul networking. Ash-hic has an account.” She nodded sagely. “You should sign up. You’d get a ton more calls.”

Ridge grunted. “If you hadn’t destroyed my ad, I’d get calls the conventional way.”

Her eyebrows wiggled. “You pack quite a package, Ridge.” Her gaze traveled to his pajama pants, which he wore commando.

His jaw firmed. May lightning strike me dead. Now. I’ll donate my body to science.

Two weeks ago, when Claire had hired him over the phone, her voice had sounded professional. Sensible. They’d discussed his rates and arrival time at Alicia Maxwell’s apartment, the duration and heat level of his performance. He had no problem flirting and stripping to a leather G-string, but drew the line at mimicking sex with the guest of honor.

In tonight’s case, Tanya, Claire’s friend.

He released her shoulders. Her hands whipped under his T-shirt. Jesus! Her palms skated over his pecs and abs. His pajama pants ran the risk of tenting in an energetic salute.

“Make love with me,” she murmured.

“Stop.” Grabbing her wrists, Ridge flipped her hands back out. “Claire. I don’t know what you think I’m advertising—” other than the party dances “—but I will not sleep with you.”

“Aw.” She pouted. “Not even if I tip you?”

“Especially not then.”

She blinked. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t pick up drunk women.” Actually, between the med school grind and grabbing whatever work fit his busy schedule, he hadn’t gotten laid in longer than he cared to consider.

“I’m not drunk,” Claire enunciated very clearly. Her bleary eyes signified otherwise.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ridge released her wrists.

“You won’t take me home?” She wobbled on her sandals. “No one ever takes me home. No one says I’m beautiful. Everybody thinks I’m fat. No one loves me. Everyone loves Tanya. Everyone loves Lacey. Some people even love Alicia. But I’m unlovable!”

“You’re not unlovable. And you’re definitely not fat.” Why did women think all men wanted to date human pogo sticks?

“If I were five-seven and had great boobs, then would you have sex with me?”

Ridge trained his gaze on her face. “You do have great boobs.” From what he’d noticed moments ago.

“You’re not looking at them. You’re not feeling them.” Flinging her arms in the air, she launched herself at him. “Catch!”

Instinctively, Ridge’s hands shot up. Her rack landed in his palms. Oops.

“There.” Her loopy smile returned. “Now tell me they aren’t great.”

“I never said they weren’t great.” Damn, they felt amazing. Spilling over his fingers. Firm yet soft. Perfection.

Don’t look down.

He looked down. His thumb edged the center bow, his fingers pressing the paper strips lining her bare skin above the modest neckline.

Look back up, Pederson. Don’t you dare squeeze these babies. Not even once.

She slumped against him. Ridge stumbled back a step as her temple knocked his chin and her head sagged onto his shoulder. Her arms flopped at his sides.

“Claire?” He glanced at her face.

Her mouth had slackened with sleep, her eyes sealed shut.

Damn it.

She’d passed out with her hot knockers filling his hands. What the hell did he do now?

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NINC Report

I am back from the NINC conference and thinking about the people in the East affected by Hurricane Sandy. My roommate at the conference, Susan Lyons, was on one of the last flights to get out of the White Plains airport Sunday night.

The conference was very beneficial to attend. I have never attended a NINC conference before, and I liked the small size and getting to know the members of Novelists, Inc. aside from on the email loop. We were super busy! The sessions began at 8 a.m. and, if you attended the casual Night Owl sessions, could end as late at 10 p.m.

The first day featured a series of panels, and then, at the end of the day, NINC members asked questions of the panel members. I took notes, but it will be a while before I consult them. Too much on my plate this week to accomplish first.

The Thursday and Friday, there were traditional workshops, where the audience could either ask questions during the presentation or afterward. There were also NINCThink Round Tables, and I participated in two of those. The round tables featured industry guests (agents, editors, reps from Amazon and other digital media, cover designers, independent editors, etc.) and also NINC members. Some NINC members on the round tables were volunteers (like me) who felt they had something to contribute to the conversation while others were invited to sit on the round table as more of an “expert” in the subject area. For example, Bella Andre—who just sold a print-only deal to a major publisher while retaining all the e-rights that she’s managed to build into a hugely successful career—was invited to attend the Foreign and Subsidiary Rights round table. Elizabeth Jennings, who lives in Italy and knows a LOT about translations, what a good translation is and how much they might cost, also had a lot to contribute.

As a side note, apparently, we were told, print-only deals are not possible, but Bella Andre has proved that isn’t the case! Granted, she is definitely an outlier, but she is blazing a trail. Go, Bella!

Perhaps the most “entertaining” round table was the Changing Role of the Agent, where a handful of high-powered traditional agents discussed the rise of Indie publishing and how traditional partnerships might still advance an author’s career. Buttons were pushed, and a rousing discussion ensued.

Something I really enjoyed about the NINC conference is that the writers aren’t there to pitch to the editors and agents. So when you meet NYC editors who are on your panel, you’re meeting them as another round table guest, not someone to accost with a pitch or someone to feel nervous around. Private business meetings were still conducted, but we were there to learn from each other, instead of it being a one-way street. I think the format worked well, except that most of the NINC membership really wanted the ability to ask questions DURING the round tables, rather than finding someone afterward to ask a question. So if NINC uses the round table format again in the future, I’m sure there will be some adjustments. That said, I do feel the format worked well this year, because otherwise there can be a lot of questions from the audience and the specific questions for the round table participants might not get answered.

I hope if NINC does follow the round table format at a future conference, that more NINC members will volunteer to participate. Yes, I was nervous, but it helped that I haven’t had my eye laser surgery touch-up yet and so I couldn’t see the audience clearly anyway! I could see the fellow round table participants clearly and therefore “focused” (haha) on them.

It was a long trip back, but I am now unpacked and ready to begin uploading Catching Claire, the second romantic comedy short story in LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES. Claire was loaded to Apple iTunes while I was gone. I have MOBI and ePub files to check, cover sizes to adjust, etc. As soon as the story is up, I’ll announce it on my blog. Then the remainder of my week will be devoted to updating my website, preparing a new newsletter, and catching up on bookkeeping. If I can get that all done this week, next week I’ll begin updating and revising BORROWING ALEX for Sindie Pubbing.

What do you have on your plate this week?

Deceiving Derek Release!

I’m taking a break following lunch at the NINC Conference to pop over and announce that Deceiving Derek, Story 1 in LOVE & OTHER CALAMITIES, is now available on Kindle, Kobo, Apple iTunes and Smashwords. Smashwords will eventually distribute to NOOK and Sony, but if you can’t wait you can pick up an ePub edition from Smashwords to read on your NOOK or Sony e-reader.

Because I’m away from my lovely desktop computer with all the power, I am unable to update my website Books pages, so I thought I’d share the cover, story blurb, and an excerpt here.

Blurb:

Lingerie designer Lacey DeMarco livens up her life by finagling an unsuspecting police detective into attending a funky bridal shower. She needs one last item to complete a scavenger hunt list, and handsome cop Derek McAllister is it. But a little trickery is at work. Both Lacey and Derek are being hoodwinked…in the name of love.

Cover by LFD Author Designs:

Excerpt! 

“Someone’s stealing my underwear! I need to find out who!”

Arching an eyebrow at the indignant female voice, Detective Derek McAllister raised his gaze from his computer screen. Hello. A slim blonde in a slinky red dress stood on the other side of his desk in Rosewood’s police station. Sparks radiated from the woman’s blue eyes as she dangled a scarlet G-string inches from his nose. Her hand jerked. The scrap of silk flipped off her fingertip, bonking his Mariners coffee mug and plopping onto his notebook.

Derek glanced at the front counter. Both Biggs, the balding desk sergeant, and Harding, a lanky patrol officer who shadowed Biggs like a starved-for-attention sidekick, looked back at Derek and chortled. Biggs twirled a finger near one cauliflower ear, mouthing, “Craaazy.”

Like Derek needed Biggs to tell him. Thanks a lot, boneheads. Sending me the kook, huh?

Both uniforms were working the night shift. Although Derek had reported a slow afternoon, there was still plenty to do before the bars closed and mid-July crap hit the fan. For instance, Harding. Instead of chuckling over the Funnies, the dope could be checking parks and alleys. And Biggs…rather than playing Sudoku and flirting with the female clerk, the guy could at least check email.

“Well?” The blonde at Derek’s desk stared him down. “Are you going to shuffle me off like they did—” she flicked a hand toward Biggs and Harding “—or take me seriously?” Her golden hair shimmered beneath the bright lights in feathery layers.

Hell, why not? Elbows on his desk, Derek hunched forward in his swivel chair. Taking initial theft reports wasn’t his responsibility. His job was to investigate. However, he sensed frazzled nerves beneath the woman’s righteous ire. And, considering the nature of her complaint…

He wanted to get a good sense of the problem and who she was so he wouldn’t need to do a second interview later. If kook-job poured off her in bucketfuls, he’d rather pacify her and escort her safely home than subject her to potential ridicule by directing her back to the guys up front. Sending her away to roam the Seattle suburb in her current state of agitation was out of the question.

Derek calmly eyed the G-string. He slipped a pen beneath a lacy strap and lifted the lingerie as carefully as if he were handling a piece of forensic evidence.

“Is this the underwear in question, ma’am?” he asked.

Her chin tipped up. “I’m a Miss. Miss DeMarco.” Her blue gaze darted away a moment. “No, that’s not the underwear I’m talking about. That underwear isn’t missing. Is it, Detective?”

That depends on whether you’re wearing any. Derek stifled the urge to lean across the desk and check the presence or absence of panty lines beneath her luscious red dress. “All right, then. What underwear of yours is missing?” A question he certainly hadn’t anticipated asking upon his return to the station. On a seedy street corner, maybe.

“My lingerie designs. The prototype samples.” The blonde snatched back the G-string. “This thong is a prototype, too, but thankfully the thief didn’t nab it.”

“Are you sure it was a thief?” Derek still had panty lines on the brain.

“Yes, Detective McAllister,” Miss DeMarco said with strained patience. “You are Detective Derek McAllister, right? That’s the name she—I mean, the men at the counter gave me.”

Derek arrowed a glance to the desk. Biggs, looking back again, rolled his eyes. Harding scratched his stomach and snickered.

“They would be right.” Derek tapped the cheap brass nameplate beside his computer. Miss DeMarco’s nervous gaze tracked the movement.

Her shoulders squared. “Well, Detective McAllister, usually when there’s a burglary, there’s a thief involved. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yep. Usually, I would.” Unless she’d imagined the whole thing. Anxiety hopped off her slender curves like ants attacking a sugar bowl. Maybe she was paranoid. What a shame.

She hoisted a gigantic shopping bag off the floor. Derek’s lips tugged into a smile as she plunked the bag onto his desk, dug inside, and pulled out a skimpy lingerie top. She tossed the G-string—pardon him, thong—and pink lingerie onto the desk, then rummaged through the bag again.

“Damn it, I wanted to make sure he—I’m pretty sure the thief is a he—didn’t steal more samples, so I grabbed as many as possible before catching the bus over.” Out flew blue underwear and a yellow slip thing. “Trouble is, these prototypes take up so much room I’m having trouble finding my wallet.” The shopping bag coughed up a purple bra and some flimsy, pale green panties.

Derek put down his pen. “Don’t worry about the wallet.” Did she think she had to pay him?

“I see it!” She continued emptying the bag until an explosion of frothy colors littered his desk, reminding him of his twin sister Janie’s rooftop garden after her ex-boyfriend broke her heart and she’d weed-whacked every blossom formerly planted in honor of their love.

It occurred to him Janie would like Miss DeMarco. He could visualize the two of them whacking blossoms together.

“Ah ha!” The blonde produced a slim wallet. A cell phone clattered out of the bag, bouncing across the lingerie and clunking his jar of pens. Amid the chaos, she opened the wallet, withdrew a business card, and handed it to him.

A flowery script on creamy stock announced: Lacey’s Little Underthings. Lacey DeMarco, President and Head Designer.

“Lacey?” Derek muttered. “Give me a break.” Yeah, she’s a wing-nut.

A blush stained her face. “That’s right, Lacey DeMarco. My mother, Cather—uh, Christina DeMarco, is the famous lingerie designer out of Milan. My sister is Silken and my brother is Teddy. My mother believes in theme names.”

“Does she now?” Placing aside the card, Derek pressed down another smile. He’d never heard of Christina DeMarco. Or Cather-uh DeMarco. “Look, I need to understand the situation. If someone’s stealing your underwear, what’s all this?” He sifted his fingers through the pile.

She gazed at the heap. “This is…what’s left. What I’ve rescued.”

“Mm-hm. From the culprit, you mean?”

“Yes.” Her voice rose. “This hasn’t been stolen. Yet.” She stuffed the cell phone and lingerie back into the bag.

Derek picked up the green panties and studied the inside label. Well, lookee here. The hand-stitched label read Lacey’s Little Underthings, like her business card. Maybe his sexy wing-nut was on the up-and-up.

“Okay.” He tossed her the panties, which she caught with surprising deftness. “Please sit.” He indicated the chair in front of his desk. On his computer, he saved the grid he’d drafted showing a week of vehicle thefts. “Tell me what happened,” he said as he logged out of the computer and reached for his notepad.

She remained standing. “I’d rather tell you on the way over.” She shoved the wadded panties into the bag.

“The way over where?”

“My place.”

“Your place?”

“My design studio—it’s in my apartment. That’s where the theft occurred. Don’t you want to inspect the scene of the crime?”

“I’d rather take notes first.”

Her eyebrows high-jumped. “I don’t have time! I never know when he might strike again. He’s already plundered me twice!”

Derek chuckled. “The panty thief?”

“The corporate panty raider,” Lacey returned in an uppity tone he swore she employed to disguise her obvious jitters. Because, if her dress was anything to go by, she didn’t look the uppity type. “Lacey’s Little Underthings is a legitimate company, Detective McAllister. I’ve produced my business card. I demand your respect.”

Derek tapped the pad against his palm. Finishing the vehicle theft grid could wait. While he didn’t buy into Lacey’s business-card definition of respect, she deserved his attention and protection as much as any other Rosewood citizen. Even if he wasn’t technically on-duty.

“Just a minute,” he told her. He got up and strode to the counter. “Harding. I need a ride-along. You available?”

“Sorry.” The guy plunked on his hat. “Just got a call.”

Biggs backed away, hands raised. “I need to write a report.”

Derek nodded. Typical.

He glanced back at Lacey. She stood at his desk, clenching the shopping bag and nibbling her lip.

He drew in a breath. Okay, then. He’d poke around her design studio, call in the crime scene techs if necessary. Volunteer an hour of his time toward her peace of mind, tops.

He motioned her over. “Not to worry, Miss DeMarco. I’d be happy to take a look.”

Want it? Buy Links!

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Apple

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Off to NINC!

I’m heading off to the NINC conference in a few hours. If you’re going, I’ll see you there. If you’re not, I won’t!

I’m participating in two round tables—Indie Publishing Versus Traditional Publishing and another on Subsidiary Rights. I’ve never given any type of workshop before, so this will be a new experience for me. The round tables are comprised of industry professionals and NINC members (authors) like me. All the questions have been submitted beforehand, and the members of the round tables will discuss the questions/topics while the audience…sits quietly and takes notes.

The round table format is a new undertaking for NINC. There will also be traditional workshops at the conference. If I get a chance, I’ll report in. But I don’t know if